


Third Time's the Charm

by Melanie_Athene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, First Time, Humor, M/M, Pre-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam feels bothered and bewildered... why not throw bewitched into the mix?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time's the Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Set a year or so after Bilbo's departure from the Shire. Hobbit ages are canon, which means Pippin is a wee sweetie (11 or so), not the adult he was in the movie.
> 
> Written September 2004

"She's a witch, don't you know." Petunia Bracegirdle stated with absolute conviction, setting her teacup down with an angry thump. "Me own dear mam said as much, and she was never one to be spreadin' idle gossip."

Sam's ears twitched, but he carefully kept his head down, minding his place as he ought-- which at the moment consisted of weeding Widow Rumble's over-run vegetable patch.

"Now, Pet," Widow Rumble soothed, "Speculation never put apples on a tree. Just because your prize hen mysteriously up and died--"

"Not two days after she and I had words!"

"That's still no call to go slinging mud Goody Proudfoot's way." Widow Rumble's own teacup rattled angrily in the saucer. "It's sheer co-incidence, Pet. Superstitious nonsense."

Sam huffed a quiet breath of agreement.

"And I suppose ol' Lily's skatter-brained, donkey-faced daughter suddenly catchin' herself a man is nonsense too."

"What's th' one have to do with th' other?"

"You didn't hear?" Petunia's voice dropped to a sly whisper. Sam quietly weeded his way up closer to the side kitchen window. "Lily paid Goody a late night call several weeks back. Had her magic-up a love charm or some such-- and the next thing you know, wedding invitations are off in the morning post."

"And the husband-to-be? Sprung up from mushrooms, did he?" Widow Rumble snorted in obvious amusement.

"Laugh away, dearie. Laugh away. That Boffin boy never knew what hit him. In town for one day to sell his da's turnips and 'taters, and betrothed to a girl he'd never before laid eyes on by sunset that night. You tell me if that's natural."

"Unusual..." Widow Rumble conceded grudgingly. "No mistakin' that. But--"

"But nothing! It isn't the first time such like has happened. And if that's the case, I tell you..."

But at that point young Samwise Gamgee was no longer interested in the possible hexing of prized chickens. He rocked back on his knees, green-stained hands clutching fistfuls of soil as if to anchor him to the earth, brain churning with possibilities.

Could it be true...?

No. Half of Hobbiton knew that Petunia Bracegirdle was full of hot air and addled misconceptions. Magic wasn't real. Love charms were worthless trinkets to amuse moonstruck, giggling girls with no more sense than--

"No more sense than me," Sam muttered darkly. Sighing, he bent his head back to the task at hand. _What I really need is a spell for pullin' weeds._ He smiled ruefully. _Or better yet, one for stoppin' 'em 'fore they start..._

 

~*~

 

"I missed you today, Sam," a soft, familiar voice called as Sam trudged wearily home. "Have you tamed the Widow's garden?"

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam's eyes lifted to meet a dancing blue gaze. "Aye," he said, lips twisting to answer his master's smile. "Though I thought for awhile there it had the best of me."

"Nonsense, Sam." Frodo exhaled a fragrant series of smoke rings, and tapped his pipe thoughtfully against the gatepost he'd been leaning on, enjoying the evening breeze. "There's no garden in the Shire that could resist you."

Sam's instant blush rivaled the sunset in hue.

Frodo laughed delightedly. "Shall Bag End have the pleasure of your company tomorrow, then?"

"Aye," Sam mumbled.

"Good, good.... Well, I shan't keep you from your supper any longer. A good night to you, Master Gardener... and pleasant dreams." With a final amused chuckle, Frodo ruffled Sam's already wind-tousled curls, slipped through the gate and vanished from view behind his big green door.

"Dreams," Sam murmured. "What does he know of my dreams."

And when did those dreams first start?

When did the pure and simple love of a child for his favourite friend turn into lust-filled nights spent tossing and turning in useless longing for something that could never be? Sam sighed and turned his plodding steps back towards home.

 _He's the rich, clever master and I'm naught but the poor, lowly gardener. What's worse, he still sees me as a child,_ he thought bitterly. _Can't he see I'm all grown up now? Can't he see that I love him more than anything? Or is it that he doesn't want to? If I could only make him see. If I could only make... him... love... me..._

Sam froze with one hand on his own front door, thinking, thinking, replaying the afternoon's overheard conversation over and over in his mind.

"You're a ninnyhammer, Samwise!" bellowed the Gaffer, abruptly swinging open the door, and starting at the unexpected figure looming there. "Food's getting cold an' you're standing out here stargazing?" He huffed and drew his pipe and tobacco pouch from a pocket. "Thought you had more sense, lad."

 _So did I,_ Sam thought. _So did I._

 

~*~

 

It took the better part of a fortnight for Sam to gather his courage in hand and set his feet on the path to Goody Proudfoot's smial. He shivered as he crept from shadow to shadow, and more than once cast a longing look back at the cozy lights still glowing in the windows of Bag Shot Row. Laughter from the Green Dragon carried clearly across a silent field, and he thought wistfully of the friendly faces and frothy ales that might greet him there. But, no, he was a hobbit with a mission-- fool's errand though it might well turn out to be. Still, he'd never know until he tried. And oh, if only... if only...

"You're out and about late this evening, Sam."

As if conjured from thin air and half-wished wishes, Frodo suddenly stood before him. A dark grey cloak and hood wrapped his slender form in deeper shadow. Only the pale white sliver of his profile was distinguishable in the faint moonlight. Sam gasped and stumbled, and a quick, white hand shot out to his shoulder to steady him before he could fall.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," Frodo murmured. He lowered his hood, and Sam could see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Sam squeaked.

"Are you meeting someone?" Frodo's smile broadened, and he glanced around. "It's a lovely, romantic evening for a stroll, don't you think? Too dark to truly see a clear path. Why, perhaps Mistress Cotton would appreciate some handsome lad escorting her home."

"She and her da take a wagon out to the farm," Sam said somewhat shortly, wondering exactly who Frodo meant should do the escorting-- Sam or himself. _Is he interested in Rosie Cotton? Did he just call me handsome?_

"Ah, then," Frodo nodded decisively. "In that case, Sam, I guess we shall just have to make do with each other's company." And with no further ado he linked his arm through Sam's. "Where are we going?" he asked brightly.

"Ah... erm..." Sam envisioned Frodo's face were he to admit to his original destination. _Right then, Mr. Frodo, let's just pop around to ol' Mrs. Proudfoot's for a snickity wee love charm. We can try it out on the way home._ He stifled a hysterical giggle.

"Sam?"

"It's getting late, sir. Me Gaffer will be wonderin' where I am."

"Right you are," Frodo chirruped. "I'll just see you home, then, shall I?"

And there really was nothing for it then, but to try and match Frodo's nimble steps as he led them back to Bag Shot Row.

Sam felt like screaming his frustration to the stars.

The journey home was both exquisite and a torture. Frodo kept a firm grip on Sam's left arm-- though it wasn't at all clear which of them he thought needed the steadying influence. Now and then his cloak swung with the motion of his walking, and tickled against Sam's leg. And once, Sam's breath whooshed out in a barely suppressed moan when otherwise surefooted Frodo slipped on a mossy rock and briefly pressed the whole of his right side against the younger hobbit.

Sam felt like rolling Frodo into the nearest ditch and ravishing him on the spot.

Oblivious to Sam's monosyllabic replies and restless shifting, Frodo nattered on and on about this and that doing in the Shire, the price of fresh produce, the weather, his cousins' antics, his latest elvish translation, the Gaffer's fine-tasting brew...

Sam felt like grabbing his tormentor by the ears and smothering his chatter with a searing kiss.

By the time they finally stood outside Three Bag Shot Row, Sam was in such a dither that he barely managed to croak out a simple 'good night'.

"Good night, Sam," Frodo said, and once again reached out to playfully ruffle Sam's hair.

Gandalf's fireworks could not have triggered more of an explosive reaction. Sam leapt back as if burned. He stood there, slack-jawed and panting as a cheerfully whistling Frodo turned his steps to home.

 

~*~

 

By Valinor, there was no way Samwise could put off seeing Goody Proudfoot after the night he'd just had. He blushed as he stripped the soiled sheets off his bed and stuffed them to the bottom of his laundry basket. " _Frodo_ ," he whispered, eyes glazed and memory carrying him back into the longed for passion of his dreams. Hot kisses... cool hands on fevered flesh... a normally controlled, melodic voice shattered into incoherent fragments, crying his name...

_'Sam-- Sam-- yessss, Saaaaaaam!!!'_

"Oh, Frodo..." Silent tears trickled from beneath tightly squeezed closed lids.

He burned. He ached. He was very probably losing his mind.

 

~*~

 

It was an interminably long day. Somehow, Sam stumbled through it. Clipped the hedges. Turned the compost. Hoed the carrots. Watered the roses. Spoke when spoken to, as neighbors passed up and down the Row. Sang his usual songs, though his heart was not in them as it usually was. Put one foot in front of the other, each step carefully directed in the proper direction-- not pelting madly through the halls of Bag End to fall babbling at his master's feet.

Several times Sam caught a glimpse of Frodo standing at a window or doorway, sipping a tea or enjoying a pipe, blue gaze leveled at him appraisingly, with a slight frown marring the smooth perfection of his brow. Frodo would nod or wave or smile when caught out and, in return, Sam would nod or wave or smile and cover his sick wave of longing with a sudden burst of enthusiasm for whatever chore he was currently engaged in. The garden had never looked better. The gardener, however, was showing definite signs of strain.

It was with a sigh of profound relief that quitting time found Sam industriously cleaning the rich, dark soil from his gardening tools and placing them neatly away for the next day's use. So engrossed was he in this familiar routine, that at first he did not register the presence of Frodo hovering in the doorway of the little shed. But, as inevitable as his next breath, his eyes were slowly drawn to his silent master. Frodo's face was all in shadow, unreadable. The failing sunlight lit him from behind in a brilliant halo of golden light and dancing dust motes. _He's so beautiful..._ Sam swallowed and cast his eyes back down to his work-stained hands.

Frodo advanced into the shed. "You have a smudge of dirt on your face, Sam," he said, and proceeded to draw a snow-white handkerchief out from his breast pocket and casually swipe at the offending trail of dirt.

 _Well, at least he didn't tell me to blow my nose_ , Sam thought giddily.

"I was wondering if you'd care to join me at the Green Dragon tonight. You've worked so hard today... I thought maybe a little reward was in order."

_Ah yes, do let's reward the child. Perhaps a sweetmint, and a pat on the head? And then would you like to read me a tale and tuck me into bed? And maybe crawl in there buck-naked with me and-- Stop it, Sam! Stop it, stop it, stop it!_

"That's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Frodo." Sam cleared his throat self-consciously. "Mayhap another time? I-- I have... an errand to run for... for the Gaffer."

"Yes, yes, of course." Frodo stepped back into the garden, the fragrance of the nodding blossoms perfuming the now soft twilight. "Good night, Sam."

There was no parting ruffle to Sam's hair.

Surprisingly, Sam found he missed it.

 

~*~

 

Even more, Sam found he missed the steadying hand and reassuring presence of last eve's companion as he scrambled through the brush and brambles on his way to Goody Proudfoot's home. She was on the extreme outskirts of Hobbiton proper, and in the dark and solitary night, it felt more like a trip to far distant Bree than an evening stroll in the safety of the Shire. Shadows loomed overlarge and strange voices moaned and chattered. The sudden hoot of an owl sounded sharp as a deadly warning, and Sam froze in place, heart madly thumping in his chest, straining eyes trying to dart in all directions at once.

The cry was not repeated. The very breeze gave a final breath and died. Beyond doubt, this sudden, enveloping silence was more unnerving than night's usual discordant choir. Sam's prudent pace increased to a flat out run. By the time his feet slapped up the pebbled walkway leading to Widow Proudfoot's tiny dwelling, he was all awash in sweat and gasping for air like a trout freshly netted from the creek.

Not a light was on in the smial.

 _Now what?_ Sam wondered. Had he come all this way for nothing? He tried to calm his jagged breathing.

"Who's there?" A querulous voice demanded The sound of a flint being struck sounded, and a flickering candle was thrust out into the darkness; a grey-curled head popped out beside.

"Who are you?"

"S-Sam, S-Samwise Gam--"

"Well named, aren't you?" Goody Proudfoot snorted. "Do ye not know what time of the day it be, lad?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I thought-- I need--"

"Lady help us!" Goody muttered. Her head disappeared from the window, and with a creak of rusty hinges her door swung open to the night. "Come in, then." Her voice faded as she padded down the front hall, candle flickering wildly in the gloom. "If we're going to have this conversation, we may as well have it over a cup of tea."

Sam slowly entered, and shut the door.

 

~*~

 

"So," Goody eyed Sam sharply with beetle-bright eyes, and took a cautious slurp of tea. Steam curled like ghostly fingers around her whizzened face, and fluttering firelight highlighted the craggy expanse of her large nose and the mysterious items hung haphazardly around the room.

"Ma'am?"

"It's a love charm you'd be wanting."

Sam sputtered and coughed, his tea going the wrong way down. "H-how did you know? I never said--"

"Ah, lad, I don't need magic to see the mooncalf look clear on your face. Scone?" Goody took a hearty bite of one herself, and nudged the plate his way.

"Nay, thanks." Sam shook his head, befuddled by the ease with which Goody had pierced to the heart of the problem.

"And is there no hope at all, young Sam, without my meddling? Does she not care for you at all?"

"Oh, aye, she-- that is, _he_ \-- cares...." Sam shut his eyes, hiding his pain from the sympathy he read in Goody's eyes. "Of that there is no doubt. We've been friends for years... good friends... Oh, he's been that kind to me. I have no right to complain, but... but..."

"But you want more."

"Aye." Sam sighed. "Aye."

"Ah, well.... 'Tis not a thing lightly done, changin' the way of things. Sometimes you're better off to let things be."

"Then you'll not help me?" Soulful hazel eyes rose from their studious inspection of furry toes. "Is it because it's no' a lass?"

"I didn't say that." Goody held up a commanding hand. "It's not for me to judge who you choose to love. It's just... Ah, you don't want to hear this, I know, but you _are_ young, Samwise. Mayhap, twenty-one... or twenty-two? Spring fever burns your blood and addles your brains. The grace of Time will soothe your heart. A true friend, you may come to find, can be held closer and be more dear than fickle passion ever dreamed."

Goody smiled a knowing smile. "But I suppose you hope for both: love and your friend."

Sam's jaw dropped at her perception. Goody cackled.

"There's wood as needs chopping." she said briskly.

"Aye," Sam anticipated. "Beneath the moon at midnight, in a hallowed glen, that the fire might burn pure and the spell run true."

"By lantern, out in my back yard," Goody dashed the cold water of reality on his whimsy. "You may as well keep busy while I ready the charm."

 

~*~

 

Sam had his suspicions that the charm did not take nearly so long to make as it took him to chop and stack the not inconsiderable pile of wood next to Goody's back door. He kept his speculations to himself, ignored the frequent twitchings of the kitchen curtain, and applied himself to the task he'd been set. The first faint blush of dawn lit the sky, as yawning and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he returned the axe to it's sheath of a scarred oak stump.

On cue, Goody's door swung open. "You're a fine worker, lad. Not lazy, as some I could name. Come inside. A cup of tea will do you good before I send you on your way."

Sam drew a bucket of icy water from the well and sluiced off the dirt and sweat before drawing a second bucket to carry with him into the smial.

Goody smiled and waved him to the table. His stomach rumbled loudly in pleasure at the sight of the feast she'd set. No encouragement was needed to see him tuck into the food.

In the light of day, the kitchen and the woman seemed commonplace enough. Herbs and onions hung from the crossbeams. Goody hummed underneath her breath as she removed a kettle from the hearth. He might well be in his old gram's smial. An orange tabby wound around his feet as he ate, begging bits of bacon or whatever he might spare. He blushed as Goody caught him feeding the kit, and she smiled again and piled more on his plate.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell me Gaffer," Sam fretted, wiping the final traces of egg off his plate with a thick crust of bread. "My bed not slept in, and me late for work... It won't set well with him."

"He was young once hisself. I doubt he'll press ye too hard, lad."

"You don't know me Gaffer."

"There's a price to pay for magic, not necessarily in gold."

"If this works, I'll pay it gladly," Sam stated, squaring his broad shoulders. "Boxed ears will heal."

He stretched out his hand to accept the tiny leather pouch Goody held out.

"What must I do?" he said.

"Any fool knows the way to a hobbit's heart is though his stomach-- you do have access to his home?"

Sam nodded.

"Good. Then place a pinch-- no more than a pinch, mind! -- of this powder on his food or in a cup of tea. The result should be immediate. Make sure you hang around to reap the benefits, lad. You don't want some other hobbit walking off with your prize."

 

~*~

 

Not wanting to give rise to further gossip at Widow Rumble's table-- or, worse yet, in the early morning market square-- Sam slipped out Goody's kitchen door and trekked through the lesser known ways until he turned up the well-trodden path that led to Bag Shot Row. It would seem he was in luck. The Gaffer was not at home. His sisters too were already absent from the smial-- from the sound of their cheerful banter and splashing, hard at work out back with the laundry. Sam stole into his room and quickly changed to a fresh shirt. A splash of water to his heated face from the basin on his night stand, and he was as ready to go as he was ever likely to be.

He tucked the little leather pouch securely in his pocket and trotted up the Hill.

 

~*~

 

Frodo typically didn't awaken till close to second breakfast, so Sam decided to start his day off in the far corner of Bag End's garden, to lessen the chances of him disturbing his master's rest-- and increase the chance of Frodo not noticing his tardy arrival. What he didn't count on, however, was the uncommon sight of Frodo and the Gaffer sipping steaming mugs of tea as they walked about the garden, deep in serious discussion from the looks of things. Ahh, facing either one of them alone would have been no easy chore, but the two of them together was sore cruel.

"Samwise," growled the Gaffer.

"Sam." Frodo politely inclined his head.

"G'morning," Sam muttered, meeting neither the rising fury in his father's eyes, nor the curious gleam in his master's level blue stare.

"The 'taters need hoeing--"

"I wonder if I might speak with you--"

Sam glanced uneasily from one hobbit to the other. The Gaffer handed his now empty mug to Frodo.

"Go with the master--"

"Do as your Gaffer says--"

Frodo and the Gaffer shared an indecipherable look, then without so much as a 'never mind' or 'see you later', Frodo turned and disappeared into Bag End while the Gaffer stomped off down the Hill towards home.

"Well, I reckon that went somewhat better than expected," Samwise murmured, and headed for the shed to fetch the hoe.

 

~*~

 

Sam was well past the point of exhaustion by mid-day. Twice, he'd injured himself through sheer carelessness. His eyes itched and burned from lack of sleep, and his right hand kept traveling a well-worn path to his mouth to hide cavernous yawns. His left traced an equally familiar route to his pocket, touching the little leather pouch concealed there as one might a talisman, reverent with hope and anticipation.

After narrowly averting the disaster of chopping off his own big toe, Sam decided to skip lunch and take a nap instead. Tucking himself into a cozy niche of shade between two giant tree roots, he leaned back with a weary sigh. Lulled by the drone of insects and the heat of the sun, he was asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

The bright laughter and clatter of children running down the Row startled him awake seemingly moments later, though from the position of the sun he knew a couple of hours had passed. "Ninnyhammer," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with his hands. "Sleeping the day away. What would the master think?"

He sniffed appreciatively. Someone was baking bread. Someone close by, 'twould seem. His mouth watered and his stomach growled, reminding him that he'd missed lunch-- what's more, he'd forgotten to even bring one in his haste to make up time. Ah, no matter. He'd make up for the lost meal at suppertime-- if his Gaffer let him in the smial.

Scrambling to his feet, Sam's toes stubbed against something that had certainly not been there when he laid down. His surprised glance fell on a cloth-covered basket-- obviously the source of the delicious smell. Curious, he lifted an edge of the cloth to peer inside. Bread, indeed. Not to mention a creamy slab of cheese, neatly sliced cold chicken, a jar of pickles, a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, a still chilled jug of sweet cider and... pie? Yes, pie. Blueberry pie. His favourite. Silver utensils and fine linen napkins -- all embroidered or embossed with a fanciful _B.B._ \-- completed the ensemble. Frodo had prepared a magnificent picnic.

Frodo!

Sam decided on the spot that he might very well make himself a new career of blushing, as he felt a deep red tide sweep up his neck and across his face. Seems like he still did not know what his master thought of his lazy servant, sprawled out snoring and oblivious to the world, but obviously Frodo had stood here-- briefly or no-- watching Sam lost to his sleep.

"Aacchhtt!" Sam growled. That seemed to say it all.

And he turned to the food for consolation.

 

~*~

 

What little remained of the workday sped by as if Time had strapped wings to its heels and kicked off down the road in fine, high spirits. Sam's own spirits were in more of a muddle. On the one hand, Mr. Frodo had brought him a fine lunch. On the other hand, he hadn't stayed to share it. Apparently, he hadn't minded that Sam was sleeping, else he would have kicked him awake... but he hadn't made an appearance in the garden since, nor in a window either. Was he angry... or amused? Completely indifferent?

Sam sighed and hoisted the basket under his arm. No matter Frodo's mind or motives, it was clear Sam now had to return the basket to Bag End, thank his master for the undeserved treat, and sincerely apologize for his own poor behaviour. Perhaps, perhaps, Frodo would invite him in for tea... Perhaps, while Frodo was in the pantry fetching somewhat, or was distracted by some elvish scroll, Sam would find his chance to sprinkle Goody's concoction in his cup. Perhaps, perhaps...

Sam squared his shoulders and rapped firmly on the kitchen door. A crash sounded inside, as if a plate-- or plates-- had been dropped in surprise.

The door slid open without a whisper of sound, and there stood Frodo, bright-eyed and slightly flushed. He ran a distracted hand though his unruly curls, leaving a dusty white trail in it's wake. Flour? Obviously, Frodo had been baking. The table and counters were littered with a host of various savoury dishes, abandoned or burned discards, unused ingredients, dirty pots and pans, and scraps of paper. Sure enough, there was a mound of broken blue crockery just to the left of the hutch.

Sam held the picnic basket out in offering and tried hard not to stare. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I just wanted to thank you for the lunch. I'll not keep you-- you're expecting company-- "

"No," Frodo gasped, "that is, yes. Merry and Pippin are stopping by next week. But that's not what this," he waved his arm expansively, "is about. Come in, Sam."

Sam picked a careful path through spills and debris. He collected a broom and dustpan from the hearth, and knelt to clean up the broken plate.

Frodo's slim fingers picked up a piece of grease-stained parchment. "I've been meaning to try out some of Bilbo's recipes. I guess I rather got carried away."

"Aye." Sam's lips twitched, and try though he might he couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.

Frodo's head shot up, shaking a mist of flour from his hair. He sneezed, once... twice...

Sam laughed all the harder. After a few seconds, Frodo merrily joined in.

"Oh, sir... you should see... yourself." Sam chortled.

"If I look half as bad as this kitchen..."

"Would you like a hand cleaning it up?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

The room rang with laughter and snatches of song and merry conversation as they laboured side by side. Almost before they knew it, all was set to rights and tidied away, except for several dishes left set aside for Frodo's supper.

"Time for me to be going," Sam said reluctantly.

"Stay, Sam." Frodo begged. "I-- I'd like that. And I need help eating all this besides. There's enough here for a dozen hobbits! You don't want to see good food go to waste, now do you?" He reached for a second dinner plate, then half turned back to meet Sam's eye. "Please?"

"If you'd like, then," Sam said shyly.

And it was just that easy. While Frodo trotted off to the cellar muttering something about finding a good bottle of wine, Sam piled generous helpings from each dish on their two plates, then drew the leather pouch from his pocket and sat there staring at it consideringly. _Should I... shouldn't I..._

The patter of Frodo's returning footsteps forced a decision. Sam quickly untied the cord knotting the bag and scooped up a large pinch of the powder. No scent to it, he noted. He sprinkled it generously on Frodo's plate, and thrust the still open bag back in his pocket just as Frodo re-entered the room.

"I think this should do justice to our feast!" Frodo beamed. He popped the cork and poured a ruby liquid into two fine crystal goblets. "Dig in, Sam." he urged. "Don't stand on ceremony."

Sam dutifully picked up his fork and started eating. Guilt turned the first taste of the undoubtedly tasty meal to ash in his mouth.

Frodo picked up his own fork and twiddled with it. He set it down and took a thoughtful sip of his wine.

"S'good, sir," Sam urged, gulping a drink of his own wine to force down his first stubborn mouthful. He sputtered and choked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sam. Of course the wine's not to your taste." Frodo sprang up from the table. "There's some ale in the pantry. I'll just go fetch it, shall I?"

Sam stared at Frodo's untouched plate and sighed. Maybe he should have put the powder in the wine? Furtively, he drew out the pouch and sprinkled a tiny bit in Frodo's glass. _Surely that will scarcely do,_ he thought, and just to play it safe dumped a little in the wine bottle too. Then he looked at the rich desserts set off to the side and as an afterthought sprinkled them too. He could always claim he'd filled up on the main course-- Frodo had a sweet tooth, certainly he wouldn't neglect his favourite part of the meal.

Sam barely had time to conceal the pouch for a second time, before Frodo emerged from the pantry with a froth-topped pint of ale and set it down before him.

Sam tipped the mug Frodo's way in a salute of thanks and took a long, deep swallow. Ahhh, that was more like it. A good hobbity drink. His second and third mouthful of the supper went down more smoothly too.

Frodo drained his wine, and poured himself another glass. His eyes brightened, and a dimple teased his cheek as he picked up his fork and started eating with apparent gusto. A third and fourth glass followed, and Frodo blinked bemusedly at his magically emptied plate. Silence stretched. Sam did seem to be staring at him most peculiarly.

"Dessert, Sam?" he offered, vaguely surprised at how slurred his words sounded, but determined to fulfill his duties as a good host. He cut two large slices of cake and handed one to Sam.

He really should attempt Bilbo's recipes more often. This was quite delicious... even extraordinary.... Frodo took another bite. And another.

Sam regarded his master with no small measure of concern. Frodo's eyes were wildly dilated, the blue scarcely a rim around the black. A light bead of sweat dappled his brow...

Frodo's fork clattered to his plate. He looked at it in dazed surprise, then lifted a fey gaze to meet Sam's eyes. He licked his lips. Flicked a glance to Sam's.

This was it, then. Sam's heart slammed in his breast. The pouch seemingly burned a reproving hole straight through his pocket-- but the burning in his veins was stronger. He roughly shoved back his chair and stood.

Frodo rose more slowly from his seat. He stumbled a bit, caught hold of the table to steady himself, and took a single step toward a quaking Sam.

"S-Sam... I... I think..."

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" Sam crooned encouragingly, stepping closer to this most beloved of hobbits. "You think...?"

"I think... I think I'm going to be ill!"

And he was. Most violently so.

 

~*~

 

Sam indeed saw Frodo to bed, and spent the night at Bag End with him, but not in the manner he had so anticipated. While Frodo bathed and dressed himself in a clean nightshirt and dressing gown, Sam cleaned up the evidence of his crime and buried the contaminated food in the compost heap. By the time Frodo shuffled out to the kitchen, Sam was just pouring out a cup of peppermint tea.

"I was going to bring this to you," he chided.

"I'm feeling much better." Frodo protested. But he did not protest Sam's sure hand helping him into his chair. "It must have been something I ate," he murmured, pressing a trembling hand to his aching brow. "Perhaps a bad mushroom...?" His eyes shot to Sam in sudden alarm. "You're not feeling ill, are you, Sam? I'd not forgive myself if I managed to poison you."

"I'm fine, Mr. Frodo." Sam turned to busy himself with the fire, hiding the sudden rush of tears to his eyes. "I was that worried..." he murmured.

"No lasting harm done," Frodo smiled weakly.

Sam turned and this time allowed himself to fully meet his master's eyes. They were thankfully normal, the blue flooded back and so clear and deep a hobbit might drown in their depths.

"Best you get yourself off to bed now," Sam managed, wrenching his eyes away from Frodo's and snatching up the emptied cup to rinse it, just to have something to occupy his hands.

Frodo yawned in reply.

"Are you sure you don't want me to fetch the healer?" Sam placed both hands on his hips, and studied Frodo critically. He looked a sight, he did. Lost like a child in the folds of that too-large blue robe -- one of Bilbo's, no doubt -- and sure if that ivory complexion of his didn't look even a shade or two more pale than usual.

"I'm fine, Sam."

"Well that you weren't, and I'll not rest easy in my mind tonight knowing you're here alone, if you follow me. What if you take a bad spell in the night?"

Frodo's lips quirked slightly. "Are you _mothering_ me, Sam?"

Sam's jaw worked silently for a few moments. "Aye, that I am." he stated finally. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but you may need tendin' to."

"You've grown up, haven't you?" Frodo sounded wistful. "Alright then, there are fresh linens in the closet. You can have the room across from mine-- we'll leave our doors open, that way you'll hear me if I need you." He fiddled with a loose thread on his robe. "Will the Gaffer mind your disappearing for a second night? He was... quite perturbed this morning." Frodo stared at his toes. "He thought you'd spent the night with some lass..." A blush tinted wan cheeks. "Did you, Sam? No!-- you don't have to answer that! It's none of my concern."

Sam answered Frodo's blush with a deeper one of his own. "I guess I did just that," he mumbled. "Though not th' way it sounds. It wasn't-- We didn't--"

"It's alright, Sam. Never mind." Frodo stood, one hand clasped to his stomach as if in pain. "Would you mind awfully brewing up some more of that tea? It seems to help."

"I'll bring it to your room," Sam offered eagerly.

Frodo nodded and wandered slowly off down the hall, trailing his fingertips along the waiscotting as if for balance.

As Sam crept into Frodo's bedroom with the tea, he gazed at the lithe figure in the vastness of the big feather bed and felt a slow curl of fierce longing lick through his entire body. "Master?" he breathed. Believing Frodo to be asleep, he set the tea on the nightstand, blew out the candle and turned to tiptoe away.

"Will you see her again?" A quiet voice floated from the darkness.

Sam paused, but did not turn his head. "Aye," he said, equally quietly. "I have to. _I have to._ "

 

~*~

 

"Samwise, I said _'on food or in a cup of tea'._ _Or_ not _and_ ! You might have killed your poor friend." Goody tsk-tsked and glared at him reproachfully.

Sam hung his head in shame and distress, and scuffed a toe in the dust.

"Ah, lad, what am I to do with you?" Goody heaved a heartfelt sigh. "Very well, then, let's try somewhat else..."

 

~*~

 

"Flowers?" Sam muttered. "You want me to give him flowers? I need a witch to tell me this?" He clasped a hand over his mouth in shocked dismay. "I-- I'm sorry, Goody. Please, please forgive me."

Goody laughed uproariously. "If I turned every hobbit that called me 'witch' into a toad, there'd not be enough flies in the Shire to feed 'em all."

"'Twas rude of me, nonetheless. I sincerely beg your pardon."

"Pardon granted," Goody waved an airy hand. "Now pay attention, young Samwise. As a gardener, you above all others should appreciate this charm. You're not giving him just any old flower at random. This is a specific message. I expect you to get it exactly right."

"Mayhap I should write this down," Sam patted his pockets for a scrap of paper. "Do you have a quill?"

Goody ambled out the smial door and vanished around the corner. An indignant squawk preceded her return. "Berry mash will have to serve as ink."

"What? Not blood?" Sam teased.

Goody affectionately smacked the back of his head with her hand as she headed for the larder. "Nice juicy bugs, lad. Keep it up and your gardening days will take a somewhat different turn."

 

~*~

 

"What colour are his eyes?"

" _Blue..._ " Sam sighed. "Cornflower blue of a sleepy morning... or when he smiles. Cobalt at night. Azure when he's angry. Sky-blue like a cloudless day--"

"Blue. His eyes are blue." Goody rolled her own brown eyes. "Forget-me-nots, I should think-- for true love."

"A red rose to say 'I love you'. A red carnation, 'my heart aches for you'. Lavender, 'devotion'. Primrose, 'I can't live without you'. Baby's breath, 'everlasting love'. Coriander... coriander... um, 'lust'..." Sam blushed and silently trailed a finger over the rest of the list. "If my da heard me usin' words like these he'd wash my mouth out with soap-- and rightly so!"

"Make sure you tip this potion into the vase-- not on his supper!" Goody held up a tiny vial.

"What's in it?" Sam uncorked the vial and sniffed appreciatively. "Sandlewood... sage... jasmine... rose... and cinnamon."

"You're a natural at this." Goody smiled. "I could use a young apprentice..."

"Sorry," Sam kissed her cheek and pocketed his list. "I'm taken." He frowned, re-corking the bottle, and running a list of chores over in his mind. "I finished hoeing the 'taters and pruned the trees. You should have a good cherry harvest if the birds don't get them first."

"They won't dare go near 'em," Goody said complacently.

"I had hoped to water the garden to help it along, but I'd best be off home now." Sam fretted.

"The rain tonight will take care of that."

"But it's no' goin' to rain-- the breeze is from the east." Sam argued.

Goody smiled. "Best hurry home, lad, if you don't want to get wet."

 

~*~

 

Sam laughed and happily splashed in puddles all the way home.

 

~*~

 

"Beautiful..." Sam smiled, stepping back to view his creation. It was by far the prettiest bouquet he'd ever seen in his entire life. He tipped the vial's contents into the water, swishing it around slightly with his finger, then carefully carried the heavy vase down the hall to Frodo's room.

 _'Close as might be to his bed,'_ Goody's advice rang in his head. _'His sleeping mind will decipher the message of the flowers, and in his dreams he will be drawn to your heart.'_

 _'And when he wakes?'_ Sam had breathed.

 _'Ah, when he wakes...'_ Goody smiled. _'Then will your dreams come true.'_

 

~*~

 

Sam slipped from Bag End, whistling cheerfully. He was hard at work in the garden when he heard Frodo and his cousins-- mostly his cousins-- clamouring their way up the Row.

"Sam!" Pippin shouted, and launched himself pell-mell at the surprised gardener.

In the scant few seconds it took Pippin to fly through the air, Sam managed to brace himself for impact. He awkwardly eased the laughing young lad to the ground, glowing redder than the roses as Pippin shamelessly bussed his cheek.

"You've grown a good three inches," Sam marveled. "What have they been feeding you, then, Master Pippin?"

"Naught as good as Frodo's apple pie." Pippin giggled.

"Yes, that's just what he needs," Merry grumbled. "More sugar."

"Mr. Merry," Sam nodded. "You're looking well."

"S'Good to see you, Sam."

Merry held out a hand, and after a quick wipe of his own on his pants' leg, Sam shook it.

"We thought we'd not see you this visit." Pippin complained. "Wherever have you been hiding?"

"Sam has himself a girlfriend," Frodo murmured.

Merry shot his elder cousin a curious look. "Ahhhh.... Congratulations, Sam."

"Ehhh," Pippin pulled a face. " _Girls_ !!!"

The three older hobbits laughed.

"No, _really_ !" Pippin cried. "I'm _serious_ here! C'mon, Sam, she can spare you for one night, can't she? We're off back home tomorrow-- and I'd hate to think you missed out on our jolly time. Frodo's going to sing-- you promised, didn't you Frodo? And Merry's cooking supper. And I'm-- I'm-- Well, I'll find something to do. What do you say, Sam?"

Sam glanced at Frodo.

"Please do stay, Sam." Frodo said quietly. "If you'd like. You're more than welcome."

"Ach, well, after I finish here, I'll just be off home to clean up a bit."

It was a toss up as to whose smile was the brightest, Pippin's or Frodo's.

 

~*~

 

As perfection went, it was a more than perfect evening. Merry's cooking skills were surprisingly advanced. After a few ales, Sam unbent enough to do some wicked impersonations of various Hobbiton personalities-- including Ted Sandyman, the Gaffer and one Frodo Baggins. After they wiped hysterical tears from their eyes, Frodo sang not one, not two, but three songs-- the final one of them a soft, sad elvish ballad.

Sam finally remembered to breathe.

"But what does it _mean_ , Frodo." Pippin asked, his little pixie face screwed up in concentration.

"It's obviously a love song, Pip." Merry ruffled his favourite cousin's curls. "And one without a happy ending, I'd say."

"Oh," Pippin sniffed dismissively. "I liked the other two better. Especially the one about Smaug!" He tore from the room in search of better amusement, thrusting his arm before him like a sword, and humming the refrain in a clear, piping tenor.

The older hobbits patted pockets for pipes and moved to adjourn to the garden for a pre-bedtime smoke. The air was heavy and still-- perfect smoke-ring weather. They chatted softly, but animatedly, arguing which was the best pipeweed, and where and how it was best grown. Merry was just turning to Frodo in triumphant pride at the finest smoke-ring he'd ever managed, when...

The horrendous crash that sounded from within the smial didn't come as any great surprise to anyone.

"Pip--pin," Merry sighed. "I'm sorry in advance, cousin. Rest assured we'll replace whatever priceless heirloom the rascal's gone and broken."

"I'm sorry, Frodo!" Pippin met them at Frodo's bedroom door, and threw himself into his cousin's arms, sobbing as if his heart might break.

Sam blanched. His beautiful bouquet was toppled and scattered, the vase shattered, the magic elixir soaking into the floor. He thought he might just burst into tears himself.

"It's all right, Pippin." Frodo soothed, absentmindedly patting his little cousin's back while looking around his littered room as if he'd never really seen it before.

"I--I only jumped on the bed a little," Pippin hiccuped. "I didn't mean to--"

"Of course you didn't, dear." Frodo kissed Pippin's forehead, and gently set him aside. He picked up a red rose and studied it, his fathomless blue eyes sliding from the rose, over to Sam, and back to the rose.

"I'll help you, Frodo!" Pippin's bounce was back. "You help too, Merry. Sam, could you find us another vase and fill it with water? We'll have this set to rights in no time."

Sam scurried from the room.

"And bring the broom and dustpan," Pippin hollered.

 

~*~

 

"There, there, love," Goody soothed, patting Sam's strong back.

Sam lifted his head from the 'cushion' of her kitchen table, a red band marking his forehead from where it had pressed into the wood. "I think it might have worked," he sighed. "When Fro--" he shook his head. "The way he looked at me when he picked up that rose... He knew. He _knew_ . I know he did! How can I face him if he knows?"

"I rather thought that was the purpose of our little experiment?" Goody stated wryly. "To get him to notice you."

"But--"

"Lad, it's a promising sign. He felt the magic. Even with so very little time for the spell to work its charm, he felt it. That means he's open to it. I think you should give it another try."

"More flowers, then?" Sam sighed.

"No," Goody said thoughtfully. "Let's try a more traditional approach this time."

 

~*~

 

"I feel a proper fool." Sam muttered as he tromped around the bonfire.

"Circle sun-wise, Sam." Goody corrected.

Sam obediently reversed directions. Goody joined him in his walk.

Now repeat after me, she ordered. "O magick coriander, drive him mad..."

Sam dutifully repeated the words, and at her reminding gesture tossed a fistful of coriander on the fire.

"O magick caraway cause him wandering without surcease.  
O magick verdigris light the fire in his heart.  
O magick cumin bring him to me!"

Caraway, verdigris and cumin were duly added to the blaze at the completion of each phrase.

They stopped. Goody handed Sam a little charm, a silver love-knot of twisted wire.

"Pass it through the smoke," she ordered.

"May this object be blessed by the power of air, and aid me." Sam intoned, as they'd rehearsed earlier.

"Now through the blaze-- quickly, mind, don't burn your hand."

"May this object be blessed by the power of fire, and aid me."

"Water," Goody ordered, holding up a bowl.

"May this object be blessed by the power of water, and aid me." The coolness of well water laved his fingers.

"Earth."

Sam bent and touched the charm to the rich garden soil. "May this object be blessed by the power of earth, and aid me."

"Now, Sam?" Goody prompted.

Sam kissed the charm and held it to his heart, saying, "May you serve me well."

With a sudden 'whoosh' the bonfire blew out, plunging the two hobbits into darkness.

"Is that it, then," Sam whispered, shaking. "Is that all?"

"Not quite," Goody replied. "One last thing. You must twine a lock of your hair with his in the love-knot frame." Her head tilted back to scan the star-strewn sky. "You must do this by the full moon-- beneath the full moon if you can-- that makes the spell much stronger."

"But that's in no' but a week's time!"

"Aye, lad, that it is." Goody placed her hand on Sam's and carefully closed his fist around the charm. "Let no hand touch the charm save yours-- or his-- until the spell is done. Keep it with you at all times, close to your heart."

"Aye," Sam whispered. "Thank you, Goody."

"No, Sam." Goody murmured. " _I_ thank _you_ for befriending me"

 

~*~

 

Frodo was restless. The walls of Bag End seemed too confining. The heady scents of the garden he loved made his temples throb. But most of all, Sam's glum presence grated on his nerves. What right had he to be unhappy? Wasn't he loved? Didn't he have his secret sweetheart?

Frodo took to wandering the Shire, searching for... what, he did not know. All times of day and night he wandered, at first returning home only long enough to snatch a quick lunch or a nap, but then not even bothering with that-- sleeping curled up in his cloak beneath the stars and helping himself to the bounty of some farmer's field or tree instead. Sometimes he saw Sam out walking in the waxing moonlight too. Was he returning home from some tryst? He looked as if he was searching for someone... something. Frodo noted an increasing franticness from night to night in the quickness of Sam's tread, in the way his head cast to and fro as if desperate to find-- what?

Finally, curiosity overcame Frodo's desire for solitude. He'd follow Sam, he decided. Discover where he went and with whom he met. Perhaps then Frodo could return to his books and cast his restlessness aside. He really didn't need this confounded puzzle vexing his thoughts, preventing concentration. Yes, he'd follow Sam...

But Samwise Gamgee seemed to have no fixed destination in mind. In fact, he was most definitely traveling in circles.

Frodo scowled and increased his pace until he came up on his unsuspecting gardener from behind. "Blast it, Sam. Have you misplaced her?"

Sam jumped. "Mr. Frodo!" he gasped.

Frodo's eyes fastened on a glint of silver at Sam's breast. "What's this?" he asked, picking up the trinket to better inspect it in the moonlight. He ran a finger against the cool metal, felt the heat of Sam's body wafting up off the leather of the narrow lace hung round his neck.

" _Ouch_!!!" he cried. "Sam! Did you just pull my hair?"

"Sorry, sir." Sam muttered, and turned and fled.

Frodo gaped after him for a befuddled moment, then burst into hot pursuit.

Sam led him a merry chase. Twice he lost him, but the white glint of Sam's shirt sleeves betrayed his presence and Frodo slowly narrowed the gap between them. He caught up at last in a small moonlit clearing. Sam's head was bent. He apparently was trying to tie something to his love token. Had the lace broken?

"Sam?"

Silver slithered through Sam's nerveless fingers and fell to the ground. Frodo swiftly bent and picked it up. He stood there, panting lightly, holding out the trinket with one hand. Waiting for Sam to take it. Waiting for Sam to move. Waiting for Sam to speak. Wisps of hair tickled his palm. His glance fell down. Hair was tangled in the knot-- is that what had pulled his hair? No, two colours gleamed there. Dark and gold... gold and dark...

"Yours... and mine." Frodo breathed.

And suddenly he couldn't wait for Sam to make the first move-- perhaps he already had twice over? Perhaps Frodo had been too blind to see...

Frodo crushed Sam up in his arms and welded their mouths together. The love-knot slipped from his fingers back to the grass. Neither hobbit paused to retrieve it or even noticed its fall.

"I love you," Sam choked out through his tears as they finally paused for breath.

"What of your mystery hobbit?" Frodo purred, sinuously twining himself closer to Sam's trembling body.

"Don't you know it's you? It's always been you." Sam cried.

They tumbled roughly to the ground, Frodo landing on top of Sam, the sweet press of his body a welcome blanket in the night. Sam tugged at Frodo's waist, nestling him more firmly against himself-- stroked his back, his hair, his shoulders, his bottom, urging him closer, ever closer. Frodo's hands clasped either side of Sam's head, long fingers tangled in golden curls. His lips moved languidly against Sam's, in rhythm to the slow undulation of his hips.

At Sam's sudden gasp of pleasure, Frodo's tongue plunged deep into the welcome recess of his lover's mouth. He moaned when Sam suckled upon it, and instinctively increased the tempo of their frenzied kiss and the rhythm of his hips.

It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. He wanted... oh, he wanted... everything!!!

With a low growl, Frodo began urgently tugging at the barrier of their clothing. Sam hastened to give aid, hands clumsy in his eagerness.

Alas, that there would be no finesse in this first joining. Sam deserved so much more than a quick tumble... But both of them were pushed far past any semblance of reason or endurance or control. Hard heat met hard heat, naked flesh slapped against naked flesh. Hands caressed, lips suckled, teeth nipped, voices moaned. Their bodies twined and surged and pressed and writhed in ever increasing, wild abandon.

"I love you, I love you, I love you!" Sam murmured .

Frodo drew his head back just far enough to focus his gaze on Sam's. The moonlight bathed them in its cool brilliance, the glory of its full light put to shame by the radiant joy in Sam's eyes.

Though every fiber of his being screamed at him to move-- plunge, take now!-- Frodo held himself frozen in this perfect moment in time. Sam too stilled, caught as ever by the compelling magic of his Frodo's eyes. Slowly, Frodo moved his face closer to Sam's, and placed a single, chaste kiss of utter adoration on his forehead. "I love you, Sam." he said.

" _Frodo_!" With an animalistic yowl of joyful completion, Sam snapped taut as a bow beneath him, and came.

"Sam." Frodo resumed a slow, steady thrusting motion, glorying in the slickness of Sam's release, hot and wet between them. "My Sam." He bowed his head to meet Sam's hungry kiss, thrust harder, faster, surer. Suddenly, his head arched back as his own release came full upon him. " _Sam-- Sam-- yessss, Saaaaaaam!!!_ " he cried.

"Frodo..." Sam breathed in sleepy satisfaction, and drew his sated love down to pillow on his breast. He twitched Frodo's discarded cloak over their naked bodies, and they tumbled into sleep.

 

~*~

 

Something was tickling his cheek. Sam brushed at the annoyance and opened his eyes in surprise when he found his fingers tangled in unruly hair.

_Frodo!_

It hadn't been a dream, then. The charm had worked.

Sam burst into tears.

"Sam?" Frodo murmured sleepily, stirring to life and wrapping his arms tighter around the quaking hobbit. "What's the matter, love?"

"It-- this isn't real," Sam sobbed.

"Not real?" Frodo slithered his naked body suggestively against Sam's side. "It feels very real to me."

"It ain't right, Mr. Frodo." Sam scrambled back and began a frantic search for his discarded clothes.

" _Mister_ Frodo?" Frodo frowned and sat up, the cloak settling itself modestly across his lap. "That's not what you called me last night." His voice softened and the cornflower blue colour Sam so loved settled in his eyes. "That's not what I want you to call me this morning."

"Sir!"

"Sam..." Frodo swallowed his rising irritation. "I love you," he offered soothingly, seductively.

Sam paused in the buttoning of his shirt and scowled. "Aye, of course you'd say that-- you'd say anything I wanted to hear now-- do anything I asked. Kiss me out on the front steps of Bag End from dawn till dusk. Drop to your knees before me and give me pleasure with that pretty mouth of yours. Bend yourself over and play the ewe to my ram..."

"Yes." Frodo said simply. "All that I would do... and more."

Sam let out an anguished wail. "But that's not right! It means nothing! You might as well do headstands for the Sackville-Bagginses-- or-- or stroll buck-naked in a snowstorm through Hobbiton at my say-so."

"I've lost my heart, not my wits." Frodo's lips twitched.

"Don't you understand what I've done, sir?" Sam's soulful eyes flooded with abject misery. "I've _made_ you love me."

"Ahhhhh..." Frodo pondered this thought a moment. "That you did. But, then, you did that long ago." Wrapping himself in his cloak, Frodo crossed the now sun-dappled glade. A gentle finger tilted Sam's face up to meet his steady gaze. "Don't _you_ understand? I've loved you for years, Sam. Years and years and years."

He chuckled embarrassedly and turned away. "Would you believe I once asked Gandalf if he would cast a glamour..."

"Gandalf! No! You never did!" Sam's jaw dropped at the very notion of daring to approach such a scary personage for such a favour.

"He laughed at me." Frodo blushed at the very memory.

His eye caught by a glint of silver, he stooped to pick up Sam's little charm, and stared at it solemnly.

"He said: _'Be off with you, Frodo Baggins. You've no need of such frippery.' "_

Frodo turned and caught up Sam's left hand, tucking the little love-knot into his palm and closing his fingers over it, his own slim fingers wrapping warmly around Sam's fist.

" _'Love charms are but a portal-- a gateway to possibilities-- opening to many paths.'_ " he continued. " _'It is up to the one you love whether or not they choose to step through. Up to them which path they take.'_ "

Frodo lifted Sam's closed hand and kissed the knuckles lightly.

"I've watched you grow up, Sam. I've loved you -- oh, forever! That love has changed over the years, grown to something deeper, stronger... I've dreamed of you. Longed for you... And for awhile, there, you gave me some small measure of hope in return-- with your shy glances, your devotion... your pretty flowers."

Sam blushed. "You never said--"

"What could I say? How could I demand anything of you? You'd ride off to slay dragons if I asked it of you, Sam... But obeying one's master doesn't necessarily mean you love him." Frodo dropped Sam's hand and began to pace. "And then I came to believe that you'd given your heart to another. The very thought of it drove me mad!"

Frodo stepped close enough that Sam could feel the heat of his body, but he deliberately made no move to touch Sam this time.

"I don't care what force-- natural or unnatural-- brought us here." Frodo stated fiercely. “Do you hear me? _I don't care!_ " Steel-blue eyes flashed like storm-tossed seas. "All I care about is _you_ \-- and how you make me feel."

The cloak was shrugged off to the ground and Frodo stood naked before him-- how _he_ felt was very much apparent at the moment, and Sam could not help but caress the lovely vision with his eyes.

"What do you want, Sam?" Frodo whispered.

"You." Sam breathed. "I want you, Frodo-love."

"Then I am yours." Frodo wrapped Sam in a tight embrace, and began kissing a blazing trail from lips to chin to throat to cheek and up to a sweetly curved ear tip. "But never forget..." he warned, reversing the kiss trail, swiftly unbuttoning Sam's misbuttoned shirt to offer his lips delightful new paths to choose from, and all the while unfastening Sam's breeches and adding nimble fingers to the sweet, leisurely exploration of his love. "...never forget, Sam, that you are mine as well."

And dropping to his knees, Frodo's hot mouth undeniably took possession.

“ _Frodo!_ ” Sam screamed and poured his seed into the living chalice of Frodo's mouth. Frodo drank long and deep, his tongue swirling around the head of Sam's cock, teasing out a last few drops of cum, cheeks hollowing to gently suck the final pearls of the flow. His erection throbbed insistently against Sam's leg, branding him with it's heat.

"Ah, Sam,” he breathed. “Sam-love...”

“Fr-Frodo...” Sam's jellied legs pitched him to his knees. He tilted forward to press his forehead to Frodo's, gasping raggedly. Blindly, his mouth connected to sip the life-giving air of Frodo's breath. “Again!” he cried, seeking a deeper kiss, tasting both his own musk and a sweet indefinable essence that was simply Frodo. Oh, but he would never tire of this... never... “Again... again...” he begged.

Frodo obliged eagerly, avidly plundering and being plundered, hungrily trading kiss for passionate kiss. Lowering the unresisting Samwise to the ground and once more draping himself across him in a loving blanket of softly clinging flesh, he began to move, rock, thrust... Close, so close...

Strong gardener's hands cradled Frodo's aching hardness inside a gentle grasp. Nurtured, cherished, caressed... Frodo moaned urgently.

“Now, Frodo,” Sam urged. “Now.”

“Yes,” Frodo sighed. “ _Ohhhh_ , Sam... yes!”

 

~*~

 

Surely this was the finest harvest festival the Shire had ever seen! All of Hobbiton and more than half the surrounding countryside was a-bustle, the marketplace teeming with hobbits laughing, hobbits chatting, hobbits eating, drinking, singing, dancing-- in other words, hobbits having a fine old time.

Sam and Frodo ducked and dodged their way through the crowd, first one and then the other taking the lead, a tug on their linked hands indicating which way best to go.

"And here I thought 'be there with bells on' was just a saying," Frodo murmured, nudging Sam sharply with his elbow.

Sam tried hard to stifle his laughter.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins sailed by, her hat tinkling merrily with each angry stride. She turned an automatic scowl upon them, her general disapproval narrowing pointedly to a glare at their clasped hands.

Frodo waved his free hand jovially. Hat and bells jangled on their way.

"Ooooh, Sam," Frodo breathed. His eyes gleamed with a deep set joy, his lips parted in eager anticipation. "Look over there," he sighed happily. "I think Mr. Bracegirdle has had a new shipment of books. Look at that lovely pile..."

"Go on, love." Sam laughed and pushed Frodo on his way. "I'll just have myself an ale, then be right back to help you carry my competition home."

The wait for service was long, but Sam passed the time in pleasant conversation with Jolly Cotton and some other lads. He settled finally at an empty table, sipping his ale and contentedly watching the swirl of activity passing him by.

"Samwise."

Sam started in surprise when the Gaffer slipped into the seat beside him. He and his father hadn't spoken since that horrible day in the garden-- as if when the old man had handed his empty mug over to Frodo, he'd been giving up on his son as well. Sam and his father passed each other by like strangers, walking around their smial without a shared word or glance. And when Sam had moved in with Frodo, even that little contact had been lost.

"Da," he nodded politely.

"How are the 'taters faring in this dry spell?" The Gaffer took a hearty drink of his own ale and fumbled for his pipe.

Sam leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Fine, Da," he said. "They're doing fine."

 

~*~

 

Frodo was lost to the world and Sam didn't have the heart to recall him. He stood in smitten silence, admiring the sheen of Frodo's dark hair, the sweet curve of his cheek, the graceful arch of his back, the strength of his supple hands...

"Hello, Sam."

"Goody!" Sam bent to peck the bright-eyed old crone on the cheek.

"Is that your lad?" she asked. "My, he _is_ a tasty looking treat."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Sam," Frodo staggered over towards them, looking more like a walking stack of books than a hobbit. His nose and eyes and curls were all that showed above his new hoard of treasure.

 _Blue_ , Goody thought. _Cornflower blue. Sky-blue like a cloudless day..._

Sam neatly caught up half of the stack of books as Frodo abruptly tilted to one side and the load shifted. He nestled them in his left arm.

"Thanks, Sam." Frodo smiled brilliantly, turning up the brilliance of that smile to include Goody in its radiant beam. "Hello," he said.

"Frodo," Sam smiled and drew him close to stand within the magic circle of his free arm. "Here's someone I'd like you to meet..."


End file.
